


The Phoenix of Fear

by foxfae



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Deviant Connor, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Murder, Slow Burn, channelling those cyberpunk noir vibes amiright, coarse language, dark things afoot in clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:37:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfae/pseuds/foxfae
Summary: When a girl goes missing, Hank and Connor are led to Halcyon Club in search of a fading lead. They don’t get answers there, but rather another question, and that question is you: a hostess of Halcyon who may or may not know too much. Amidst the sharp objects and hidden dangers shrouding the case in shadow, Connor convinces you to help them. As you both learn some things about fear and courage along the way, love blooms.[connor x reader]





	1. suspicion at the edge of knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> this work will delve into some dark things, like murder, violence, language and objectification. please reconsider if these hit too close to home. stay safe & take care <3

The heavy techno beat thudded like an amplification of your heartbeat, the flashing white lights making the crowd move in snapshots. Walking around with a tray balanced on your arm, you effortlessly weaved through the dancing bodies, used to the sweat that rubbed off on you. Another night working the scenes at Halcyon, elite provider for pleasures of all tastes. You had just finished your waiting shift.

Slipping into the kitchen doors behind the bar, you sighed as you set the tray down. Drinks had spilled across its surface, and you grimaced at the sticky residue.

“You done for tonight?” asked Salinger, one of the dish hands. It was empty this side of the kitchen, with most staff outside serving at the bar. Usually only one or two manned the washing duties, to ensure the machines ran smoothly. There were no androids at Halcyon, after all.

You shook your head with a wry smile as you leaned against a counter. “Second one begins now.” It was near midnight, and you’d been working since the afternoon, but you promised to cover that shift for Aria. Working the clubbing floors was always tiring with the loud music which seemed to close up your throat with their intensity. You usually manned the front of the house as a hostess, which was what you’d be doing now for the next few hours.

Salinger grimaced in sympathy. “Better get to it then,” he said, inclining his head to the backdoor leading to the many service passageways within the building. With a nod, you made your way down to the first floor, fixing your hair along the way. Some of it stuck to your skin with sweat, and your tight uniform was starting to dig in painfully. But you were used to this.

The atmosphere was calmer here, flashing lights replaced with dim neon glows to soften one’s inhibitions and insecurities. All around were private little booths hidden by black sheer drapes, giving only shadowy hints of what was going on inside. You spied the owner of Halcyon sitting at a roundtable with a bunch of shady men, as usual, their gold chains sparkling and their weapons glinting dully. Cards were being dealt.

Settling in at the reception counter, your eyes skimmed tonight’s list of bookings on the computer monitor. The average amount, some regulars. All rich men with itches to scratch. You’d once curled your lip at such establishments, _whorehouses_ , but then when options ran out as eviction notices and late fees piled up at your door, you lowered your standards. Halcyon was reported to be relatively clean, and since you had nowhere else to turn, you decided to take your chances. It was a way to keep you off the streets.

So your night progressed as it usually did, greeting clients and guiding them to their booths, or if they had booked in for a special package, you led them to the upper floors where more… _varieties_ of services were offered. Occasionally grunts and laughs erupted from the boss’s table, and you couldn’t help but look over every time. Guns always put you on edge.

You were booking in next week’s services when suddenly something silver flashed in your face. A badge, belonging to a gruff voice.

“Detroit Police. We’d like to talk to the owner.”

A haggard man with shaggy hair and a young man at his side, soft features made sharp in his set expression. Your eyes widened a little when you saw the word _ANDROID_  printed across his sleek jacket, hands starting to sweat. They might have been granted rights, but Halcyon was still android-free, catering for organic tastes in a world increasingly obsessed with all things technological. You yourself had no prejudices, but you worried to think about what the boss and his friends would do. 

“The fuck you doing in my club?”

Rome, all bleached-haired and tattooed came right over into the old man’s face, looking as sickly as he always did. Your stutter died in your throat, and when Rome levelled an irritated look at you, you quickly made yourself scarce. While pretending to check up on the clients, you kept an eye on the conversation. In all your time working there, the police had never knocked on Halcyon’s door.

“Rome Felix, owner of Halcyon,” announced the android. “I am Connor, a detective for the DPD. This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson. We’re here to ask you some questions.” He looked vaguely familiar to you.

“We don’t allow your type in here, you piece of plastic,” sneered Rome, his lanky body shifting as he crossed his arms. “Don’t you need a warrant for this shit?”

The lieutenant seemed tired and disgruntled as he made a placating gesture. “Alright, calm down, pal. We just wanted to know if Magnolia Eve was ever employed here.”

“One of the stipulations of the Android Civil Rights Act, 2038, is that no establishment may refuse right of entry to androids as it is a basis of discrimination.” Connor’s face was neutral as Rome continued to ignore him, but you knew he must have been Deviant. All androids were now. Cyberlife had recently even come out with sensory packages to help them integrate better with emotions and touch. 

“Who the hell is that? Why are you looking for her here?”

“A girl who’s been missing for some time,” said Hank. “Hearsay says she might have done a couple of stints for Halcyon.”

Rome sniffed. “You got a picture?”

Hank’s weathered fingers pulled out a smartphone, swiping until he got what he found. You were lurking in one of the shadowy corners, pretending to work a terminal. From this distance, the picture was indistinct. Rome’s eyes narrowed at it, but he shrugged.

“I examine all our working girls before they’re hired. She doesn’t look familiar. Besides, our records are confidential.” With unease pressing on your shoulders, you realised that there was a lie hidden somewhere in Rome’s words. Clients could browse the profiles of all working men and women to select at their leisure. You remembered posing for your own goddamn photo.

“Listen. This is an old photo, she might have changed her hair or something. Skin grafts, maybe. We suspect she might have gone by an alias. Know anything?”

Rome curled his lip in a sneer, revealing his yellowing teeth. “Then she could’ve been anyone. How the fuck should I know? We don’t do background checks here. New beginnings and that shit.”

He looked back at you as he said this, mouth curving into a grin. You quickly looked away, pulse thudding loudly in your ears again. You couldn’t tell if he knew you were eavesdropping. He had one of those expressive yet unreadable faces, the very same which had made the Halcyon job seem so enticing at first. Rome was attractive in that sickly sort of way, but you didn’t go for that. Not anymore.

Rome and Hank’s conversation dipped in and out of your hearing, losing sense with the few words you could catch. You didn’t know everyone who worked here at Halcyon, but whispers travelled. You remembered that staff meeting they had called a few weeks back, the one which you took as just another routine reminder for everyone to keep their mouths shut and do their jobs. But then you recalled the finer details – the visible irritableness to Rome’s behaviour, the edgy look to some of the girls. Had they been expecting the police to come sniffing around?

You didn’t know why they would, though. Workers came and went through Halcyon’s systems often, with real names and aliases both. You frowned as you wondered why the detectives were led here. What had happened to their missing girl? Everything done at Halcyon was legal, as far as you knew. 

“Fine. This was a long shot anyway,” sighed Hank, turning to Connor.

When you looked back up, the android’s eyes met your own, a slight frown on his face. You held his gaze for a moment, wondering whether he could analyse you from that distance. You didn’t know anything about any missing girl, but things had become tighter around here lately.

You couldn't shake the feeling that something was truly amiss, despite Rome's dismissals. 

You watched as the police left through the foyer, breaking that brown-eyed stare as you went back to your job. The half-formed suspicions which had risen in your mind quietened. Coincidences, all of it. Must be. 


	2. the shock that solidifies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor pay the reader an unexpected visit, an event which turns out to have repercussions later.

When you started working at Halcyon, time had ceased to exist for you linearly. Shifts stretched either into dawn or dusk, and when you pulled them double, there really was no hope for a nine-to-five life. In _this_ part of Detroit, however, it didn’t matter. It was a world of twenty-four/seven convenience, whatever you were after, and with those renewable sources of energy underneath a permanently cloudy sky, neon strips always lighted your way. Sleep was for the dead.

It was some evening hour when you arrived at your damp and cramped apartment, a one-bedroom affair cornered into one of the dingy high-rises, shared bathroom down the hall. At least your odd hours helped at getting it when it was free, most of the time. Sitting down on that green, battered couch, you winced as you rubbed your feet.

Working them for hours in heels was a _bitch._

Lifting your head to the window, you were greeted with that familiar big holographic screen, displaying the temperature, time, and headlines in big bold capitals above the main road. Sixty degrees Fahrenheit, 7.14 PM, _FIRST ANDROID POLITICIAN TO BE SWORN INTO CONGRESS._ Its red hue washed into your apartment, reflecting in your eyes.

Someone knocked at your door. You rolled your eyes, begrudgingly getting back on your feet. “I swear to god, Lyle, if you try to sell me your shit _again_ —”

The words died in your throat.

“I do not know who Lyle is, but rest assured, I am not here to sell anything.” It was the face of Connor on the other side of the door, eyes bright and expectant. Behind him skulked Hank, coffee cup in hand.

Everything seemed to close in as your heart stopped. You poked your head out the door, searched the hallway. No one around – good.

“What are you doing here?” you seethed, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes swivelled to the ceiling corners, wary. You’d almost forgotten about the police visit to Halcyon. What the  _hell_ were they doing at your door?

Your name ran off Connor’s tongue, posed as a question. You didn’t nod to confirm, knowing full well that they knew exactly who you were. “I noticed you during our visit to Halcyon. It seemed like you wanted to say something, but perhaps Rome Felix’s presence was preventing you. We thought it might be beneficial to come see you in private.”

You tensed at the mention of your boss’s name. “You can’t be here.” A sick bundle of anxiety settled in your stomach. “Please. I don’t know anything, I promise. But you _can’t_ be here.”

Hank was frowning, a dubious look on his face. “Why not? “We’re in the hallway. Not on private property yet, kid.”

You had almost closed the door in Connor’s face when he planted his shoe in the way, keeping it open. He was halfway over the threshold now, and you stepped back before you were nose-to-nose. The android’s eyes bore into your own, inquisitive. If you didn’t know that he was police, you might have thought his visage friendly.

Hank squared his shoulders. “Listen, there’s a young woman missing. Months, now. The case was almost closed before Halcyon came up on the radar. It’s our last lead. You being the hostess, you must be familiar with the working girls.”

 “I—”

You didn’t want to get roped into this. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking now, ears straining for the whine of the elevator, or perhaps footsteps nearing the apartment doors.

“Have you seen Magnolia Eve? There whispers in the ranks?” He thrust his phone in your face, forcing you to look at the photo. A pretty red-haired woman, unfamiliar at first glance. Seemed suitable for Halcyon’s recruitment, though.

You forced breath into your lungs, but the words still came out fast. “ _Please._ They own this whole building. They might be watching, I don’t know. I can’t— I can’t be seen talking to you. You need to leave, now.”

“Now just hold on, who—”

Connor interrupted, murmuring to the lieutenant. Something about increasing stress levels, risk of uncooperative behaviour.

“I think we’re well past that, Connor,” Hank sighed.

Their appearance had just put your whole livelihood at risk. Your apartment was owned by Halcyon, all its expenses paid for as part of the salary.  This whole building housed odd types like you, criminals and prostitutes and dealers. People who were in debt to Rome and his drug-filled, money-laden empire. There were hidden cameras, microphones, sensors. Those stark instances of screams, the loud thuds, the arguments ending abruptly in silence – it all taught you one thing: snitches, and similar problems, got caught. While Hacyon’s business might be legal, it didn’t mean the same for the behaviour of its owner.

Paranoia struck. Perhaps these two were a ploy to see how loyal Rome’s employees were, a follow up to that meeting. You looked at them hard: while Hank looked grungy enough to do someone’s dirty work, it was unlikely that Rome would recruit an android, but perhaps that’s what he wanted you think.

“I don’t know anything,” you reiterated, because it was true, no matter which side of the law was asking you.

The two detectives left without ceremony. In a daze, you went on with your night: luke-warm shower, change of clothes, laundry. Listening to the whine of the microwave as your meal heated up, you felt that unease press upon your chest again. Connor had singled you out so easily, and it was clear that Hank was distrustful. They seemed to have acquiesced to your answers, but you wondered whether they’d truly drop their last lead just like that.

 

+++ 

 

“The secret is you have to dry them nine times to get that shine,” Salinger said, holding up the squat whiskey glass so that it caught the light.

“Why bother?” you asked, voice lilting with pessimism. “The lights are always too dim for people to see, given they’re still sober enough to take in that type of detail.”  

The dish hand shrugged. “Matter of occupational principle.”

You rolled your eyes as a huff of a chuckle escaped you. You were about to quip a reply when the door to the kitchen opened, quickly busying yourself with ordering the dried glasses, despite it being your break. Rome stepped into the light, cigarette in hand and annoyance on his brow, your name falling from his mouth.

You swallowed the anxiety that was clawing up your throat. “Yes?” you prompted, knowing your sweaty palms were undoing all of Salinger’s work.

“You want to tell me something?” His hardened eyes demanded your attention, and you quietly stilled your hands, steeling yourself.

“If you’re talking about Mr. Irving’s complaint, I’ve already settled it. A free service package of his choosing, redeemable anytime he likes.”

Rome’s eyes narrowed, but nodded as he inhaled the nicotine. “Fucking typical. Man can’t get it up for the best whores in the city, decides to blame it on the house.”

“Maybe you should start including performance enhancers for those select clientele,” you smirked, watching as his mouth quirked at the corners too, smile painted with a hint of danger. At some point, Salinger had slipped out. God, you didn’t know what this was – this _thing_ between you and Rome. While he favoured the working girls, he was somewhat close to you, too. You hated whatever it was, often chalked it up to nerves and stress. It had been stronger when you first started at Halcyon, characterised by your gratefulness to him for giving you a working opportunity. God - he'd even housed you, kept you away from the touchy clients. Regardless, you didn’t want whatever was hiding underneath the surface. 

“Yeah, maybe. Would stop us from giving out free shit so often.” Thinking him satisfied, you lifted your eyes to the screen in the corner, reading the digital time display. Break was over. You turned to leave, but he spoke again, dangerously low. “Listen, I _know_ ,” he said, your name coated in the smell of tobacco. The beats from the dancefloor outside vibrated through the door, dark and intense and intimidating. Rome was leaning over you now, cigarette dropping ash onto your shoulder as his breath touched your ear. “I know who you saw last night. Never did I think I would have to doubt _you_.”

“I don’t know anything about—” you started, but it was useless. Of course they’d find out about Hank and Connor paying you a visit, _of course._ How naïve you were, to think that perhaps it had flown under their radar. Despite his sleazy appearance, he was diligent. You turned to him, palms up. “I don’t know why they came to see me, but I didn’t tell them anything. I don’t even _know_ anything to have something to say!” You tried to control your tone, keep the panic at bay. “You have to believe me.”

“You watch yourself,” he said, soft words laced with venom. His fingers twitched slightly. “One word from me, and I can end your life. In more ways than one.” You gasped as he leaned back, face stoic. He’d never spoken to you like that before, _threatened_ you. Some logical part of you was dumbfounded by the abruptness – Rome wasn’t a rash man, yet he had heightened the stakes to your _life_ right away. The emotional part, though, felt betrayed. Working at Halcyon had always made you feel trapped and edgy, wary of the lack of privacy. There were whispers about what Rome could do, about what some of his friends did to their disloyal thugs, but for some reason the rumoured cruelties never seemed to touch you. Until now, that is. In some weird way, you had trusted Rome to respect you, and for a time you thought he did. It felt like you had suddenly misstepped and fallen down a long way, into a hole that was swallowing you up. No, not a misstep – that implied it was your own doing. You had been pushed onto this path. “See nothing and say nothing, baby.”  

Stricken, you nodded. It was like your life had just flashed before your eyes. Rome left, all casual, as if you truly meant nothing more than a pay check he had to file every month. The unease which had plagued you for almost a week coagulated into something more distinct, more tangible.

Fear.


	3. rain-slicked chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After seeing something strange, you resolve to contact Connor and Hank.

For the better part of a week, the encounter with Rome had seemed like a fever-dream, imagined in the dissipating panic of the police visit. But then when you’d meet his eyes, your heartbeat started to echo that deep techno beat and the ghost of tobacco wafted across your senses. It had been real, very real indeed. It was clear the police presence had set Rome on edge, and perhaps he’d just been taking it on you. Regardless, you started to listen more carefully, pay more attention. A threat to your life was no trivial business.

It was subtle, the whisperings. They were hard to distinguish from regular talk, but the stories that circled made you wince. Clients stepping out of line, working girls being forced into new packages they didn’t sign up for. These incidents weren’t too irregular, though, to warrant the tension that’s been building. On the other hand, casually dropped words hinted excitement at new opportunities, the promise of luxury and money and fame. An odd, but not unusual, combination.

You found something clearer near the end of your shift. On your way to throw out old data discs, your walk down the corridor towards the lower levels was interrupted by the sight of two muscled men – the club’s security – accompanying a suited gentleman. They were near the end of the hallway, walking over the intersection which connected this corridor to theirs. For no justifiable reason, you threw yourself into hiding, pressing your back flat against the wall as they walked over the gap.

It was strange. The behaviour of the three men didn’t imply any sort of aggression or impending punishment, rather, it seemed like a client being guided somewhere. There was nothing of note in the underground levels, though, being used mainly for storage and deliveries. Clients weren’t allowed lower than foyer level, you would know – as a hostess, it was your job to lead them to their booths and rooms. Uneasiness settled in your stomach. The presence of the guard meant they knew employees would approach the client if he were alone, take him back upstairs. Someone with authority must have sent the gentleman down.

But for what reason? It was dark and dank underground, no place for a customer expecting elite service.

You felt it before it was fully formed, a will coalescing into resolve. With ocular proof of something amiss, and faint echoes of the girls’ stories still on your mind, you knew that you had to tell someone.

 

+++

 

Lyle might have been a cheap junk seller, but you had to admit – he could get you anything. Standing in the misting rain outside a decrepit shack off an abandoned leg of the highway, you watched the sign reading _MILK BAR_ flicker like the power was dying out. Nursing a disposable cup of whiskey – picked up from a rusted vending machine, but tonight was a night for taking chances – your coat and gloves had frozen to your skin. In the dim light, your nails were hinting blue.

Abruptly, the door swung out on its hinges, rap music spilling into the air. Without waiting for invitation, you stormed in, the radiation-fuelled warmth seeping through your wet clothes. “Do you have it?”

Lyle was lounging on his office chair, equipped with wheels so that he could roll to any of the monitors laying haphazardly around the small space. There were screens, digital displays, and holographic interfaces all around, spare parts littering the floor. He leaned over a tiny desk, populated with all kinds of hard drives and discs.

“Do you have the money?”

Grumbling, you smacked down your credit card, trusting him to extract the money transfer discreetly. Paper currency was too hard to come by quickly these days.

He grinned, face lighting up with that tell-tale unsteadiness that told of Red Ice usage. His movements were jittery and abrupt, voice stuttering with the need to talk fast but the inability to keep pace. “Sit down sit down sit down.”

Reassuring yourself with the relative emptiness of the streets outside, you did so, watching with a racing heart as he presented a small grey rectangular device. He flipped it open, revealing a screen above a touchpad interface. “Now this,” he said, “is an untraceable way of contacting anyone.”

“That’s what I goddamn payed for,” you seethed, palms sweating. Coming here was dangerous, and if Lyle fucked up the anonymous transaction, Halcyon might make eyes at you. At times like this, you wondered whether you should take up smoking, if nicotine could really take the edge of fear off.

Lyle seemed unimpressed, levelling you a look. You relented, inclining your head in apology with a sigh, eye-roll discreet. “Now who do you wanna call, again? A ‘droid, was it?”

Leg shaking underneath the table, you nodded once. “I don’t know his model number, though.”

“Can’t do anything without the model number.” At this point, jumpy Lyle seemed calmer than you.

“Fine. Human, name of Hank Anderson.”

Lyle went to work, eyes glinting in the cool blue light the screen was giving off. You wondered why you were reaching out to them – to the police. They had never been a source of comfort or protection for you, but surrounded as you were by unsavoury types, perhaps they were the only people you _could_ go to. Maybe it was something in that android’s eyes, searching. They might have become ubiquitous in Detroit society, but you only engaged with them in the grocery shops, at the clinics. Forgettable encounters.

“Done and dusted, babe.” Shaky fingers pushed the device into your hands, along with your credit card. You took note to clean it, in case of Red Ice residue.

“Not your babe,” you greeted automatically as you left with haste, hair flattening against your skin as the rain poured down. The flickering sign had settled on only a few permanent letters, their message lighting your way to the nearby taxi ranks. _ILK._ Despite yourself, a wry smile twisted your features.

You cleared the ranks and walked across the intersection, heading down the long way home. Expertly stepping around abandoned refuse, unconscious drunks and sleeping homeless, your shaking hands fumbled with the touchpad.

It was dialling.

“Yeah?” answered a gruff voice, a bit distorted and modulated but you recognised the tone – lieutenant Hank Anderson indeed.

“Listen, I saw something. But we can’t meet in the open.”

“Wha—”

“Tonight?”

The screen showed the rise and fall of the noise coming through the line, like a curved pulse. A lone car crawled past, and you squinted into its tinted windows.

“Yeah. You the kid from Auspex Apartments?”

 You grunted in affirmation. “Placed called Jimmy’s Bar. Down on—”

“Yeah, I know the place. You better not be messing around, kid.” The screen flat-lined as the call went dead, black consuming its former blue glow. It was one time use.

 

+++ 

 

They were already there when you arrived, nestled into one of the booths at the back. Hank was throwing back something that looked like bourbon, Connor’s brows slightly furrowed as he watched, mouth moving as he said something you couldn’t hear.

Sliding in opposite them, Connor’s bright eyes regarded you. He greeted you with your name and an inclination of his head, posture straight and elegant.

Suddenly, all your resolve dwindled away. This had been a mistake. Your suspicions were probably nothing. God, you’d gone to all this melodramatic effort based on a sight that had simply confused you. Perhaps the suited man hadn’t been a client, but an inspector, even though Halcyon was exempt from such checks. Or perhaps he was an associate of Rome’s—

A hand reached and stilled your fidgeting fingers, warmth chasing away the coldness that was seeping toward your bones. “Whatever it is, you can trust us. If you’re in danger, we can keep you safe.” Connor looked so earnest, and it was easy to look past the label of _ANDROID_ emblazoned on his chest. But he was a detective, and an android at that – probably analysed your behaviour, chose a response to minimise your anxiety and elicit cooperation. His brown eyes were layered, coffee and umber and cedar.

This… feeling inside of you had been building up, steadily, growing stronger with each new uneasy twist: first the total surveillance, then the increasingly brazen behaviour of clients, followed by the deplorable living standards and pay. You realised what it was: you wanted out of it, out of Halcyon, out of Rome’s clutches. Taking a shaky breath, you hoped what you had seen would come across with meaning. “I haven’t heard anything about a missing girl,” you started, just to reiterate. “But I think there’s something going on.” And suddenly, the words just poured forth, almost desperately. “It looks like they’re using the underground levels for clients, which doesn’t make sense. There’s no amenities there for Halcyon services.”

You could see that Hank was unamused, so you pulled out your trump cards. “Listen. I know this sounds like nothing, but it’s slightly more than what you seem to have so far. Maybe it’s not related to Magnolia Eve, but the working girls are getting crossed more brazenly these days. The club’s more vigilant, making threats—”

“You've been threatened?” interrupted Hank, true confusion on his face. “By who? For what?”          

“I think it’s because we sought her out, lieutenant.”

You nodded, somewhat demurely, not wanting to blame them outright to their faces. Hank’s reaction was tangible, a hand passing over his face as he winced. “You have to understand," you pleaded. "It’s never been so tight.”

Connor’s LED swirled. You hadn’t seen much of him yet, but it looked like he always carried a thoughtful expression on his face. “It can’t be coincidence that this succeeds our recent visit, Hank.”  

“I’m with you on that, Connor. Okay, I’ll tell you what. We’ll do some work on our end, get things in place while you just keep an eye out.”

You weren’t entirely sure what this meant, but agreed anyway. Connor’s hands retrieved something in his pocket, a small black device looking like an enlarged black pill. “You can contact me, and only me, with this. It links in directly with my neural processors, and has encrypting programs. Your calls will be untraceable.” Frowning, you accepted it, fingers brushing against his. “I suspected something like this would happen, which is why I took the liberty of thinking ahead.”

You smiled slightly at his modest tone, something innocent in it despite the situation. “Thank you,” you whispered, catching the slight upwards tilt of his mouth at your words.


	4. clandestine commitments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halcyon's strange incidents increase, and reader sees Hank and Connor again sooner than intended.

Laying low amidst the murk and show of Halcyon: it’s what you did best. At first you wondered whether you should keep Connor’s contact device with you, but it wasn’t like you’d ever call him on shift. It had only been two weeks since that clandestine meeting at Jimmy’s Bar, but you had seen one more client being led to the underground levels, accompanied by the same muscled men.

The suspicion remained, but inexplicably your paranoia grew subdued again. You had gotten away with that rendezvous, and Rome was beginning to warm up to you again. It was pathetic, really, how quickly each warning gave way to acceptance, bleeding into the same gestalt of anxiety and normalcy that came with working for Halcyon.

The illusion was broken, however, on an otherwise usual nightshift in the front of house.

The foyer was teeming with clients, crowded in their booths and cheering around the intimate stage in the back – a new girl was performing her debut. Arms laden with empty trays and mind filled with refill requests, you slipped through the dimly-lighted throng to a service hall. This was not the route for clients – those corridors were pristine and white, while these were a little rundown, a little subpar. Usually it was littered with cigarette butts and disregarded receipts, but for tonight, it was littered with splatters of blood.

Rome had a much bulkier man pinned to the wall, seething into his face with a lighted cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d be a fucking sponsor, huh? Get one of your friends a freebie? Or was it for yourself?”

Recognition – a security guard, one half of the pair that had led those men to the club’s depths. It was startling to see slim, lanky Rome towering over the heavy-set man, the upset of physical expectation revealing a darker, more intangible power at play. You gasped from the end of the hall as a ringed fist caught the guard in the temple, your grip on the trays almost faltering.

“How do you even have the fucking brains to try this shit? How did you find out?” A twisted smile broke past his aggression, a grumbling sort of chuckle escaping around the cigarette. “Have you been _watching?_ Trial runs before your own go?” The man remained silent, eyes not meeting Rome’s. “ _Answer me!”_

The shout reverberated all the way down to you, and you almost stepped back through the door, but your feet wouldn’t move. A backhand brought a nosebleed, the right-hook catching the throat and sending the man spluttering.

“Didn’t think you were fucked up enough for that kind of shit. Not my scene, personally, but you do what you gotta do to stay in business. My concern was snitches,” he growled, “when it should’ve been fucking _thieves!”_

His hands throttled the man’s airway, those thin fingers bringing the guard to his knees, vein popping on his forehead. Hitched begging, feeble scratching, _please Rome never again I just needed please—_

“Too fucking late, perv.”

The chrome flash of a silver revolver, the movement so quick and _silent_ that you didn’t even realise the man had been shot. But then he sagged to the ground, all unnatural, and then Rome was muttering under his breath, curling his lip at the head that had come to rest on his shoe. It looked like the man was kissing Rome’s feet, serving him in death as he had in life.

You didn’t stay to watch Rome gather the man under the arms, nor to see where he dragged him away. Instinctively, you kept silent, turned around, walked back into the foyer; mechanical, robotic. Face stoic, you forced yourself to go on, pretend nothing happened. But your chest _ached_ with how hard your heart was beating, and your breathing was tremulous.

Convinced it was the only way to keep shock in check, you shut yourself down for the rest of the night. Faking smiles and forcing laughter with the clients, you did your job.

 

+++

 

 _50 FAHRENHEIT, 2.15AM, MAYOR CONDEMNS RED ICE EPIDEMIC._ The blazing letters had greeted you on the sidewalk leading up to the complex, and walking through your apartment door, you expected to see it again. Instead, the blinds were drawn, the lights were on, and three figures milled around the television.

You heart actually _stopped_ , hands fumbling for a weapon you didn’t own. They hadn’t seen you, perhaps you could run—

 _ANDROID,_ grey and blue jacket. Haggard man, greying hair. Another, plain-clothed.

“What the fuck?” It first came out as a whisper, senses slowly catching up. “What the fuck? What the _fuck?”_ Stomping into the room, your voice rose, fists balling at your sides as you found those brown eyes again. “Why the— _”_

Connor’s palms were displayed in something affecting a placating gesture. “It’s alright. I tried to contact you, but it seems you have left the communicator here.” His eyes fell to the small device on the coffee table, laying amidst a cracked e-reader and spare batteries.

“Are you _kidding me?_ I told you it’s too dangerous to meet here. Couldn’t whatever this is wait a few fucking hours?” Your eyes swivelled to Hank. “This is breaking and entering, I’m going to—”

“What?” said the plain-clothed man, sporting a mess of dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. He didn’t even look at you as he spoke, seeming to examine the state of your furniture. “You’re gonna call the police?” A dismissive snort. “Hank, her language is worse than yours.”

Dismay quickly settled over your bones, crumpling into the couch. “Oh my god, oh my god—”

“Alright, calm down,” Hank sighed. “We needed your help with some case files, but they’re too sensitive to just have out in the open. You can’t come to the station, so we came to you.”

Bristling, you seethed, “How can I help you if I’m _dead?”_

“What?” barked the plain-clothed man, but you were focused on taking off your heels.

“Never mind.” It was clear these men – the _police –_ didn’t care; you were just a source to them. Hunched over on the couch, your head was in your hands, trying to control your breathing, trying to think of what to _do._

You looked up at the sound of your name. Connor was back in front of you, kneeling to be eye-to-eye. “We took the appropriate precautions.” Some of the panic ebbed away, you clinging on to his every word. “All sensors in the building have been disabled. No one knows we’re here except for you.” It was frank, but he was the only one trying to reassure you. “I told you the DPD would keep you safe.”

A small smile forced itself out, and you nodded. Connor remained knelt before you as you calmed down further, vaguely aware of his eyes searching your face. In your brief time with Connor, you’d already noticed that his expressions were largely subtle. You wondered what he clung onto for the most part – deviancy or traditional programming.

“That’s detective Gavin Reed,” explained Connor, following your line of sight. “He’s had dealings with Halcyon before in previous cases.”

“It’s two fucking A.M. We gonna start or what?” You flinched at his tone, his words sounding so much like Rome, heart beating fast as memories flowed. Gavin must have noticed, for he levelled a long look at you. “Alright,” he said, a little calmer as he leaned against the wall, “let’s just get up to date first.”

“Well,” you started, thankful that Connor took the seat next to you on the couch, “Rome Felix has been owner the whole time I’ve been working there. I don’t know about the clients themselves, but Halcyon’s services are all legal.” Hank’s eyes seemed to linger on the more decrepit parts of your apartment. Well, you had said legal, not reasonable. “Things have been different, though. Secret clients. Increased control.”

Fatal fist fights.

“Have you seen where exactly underground they lead the clients to?” asked Hank.

You shook your head. “I can’t follow. They’ll see me.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow as he considered. “Are there cameras you’d be able to access?”

“There are no cameras on the underground levels.”

“Look,” said Hank, “the DPD has decided to look further into Halcyon, but we’re going to need you to cover more ground.”

You were afraid it would come to this.

“You’d be our informant,” said Connor, and you turned to him, the only one who could quell your panic. He was by far the only one you really trusted here. The hole you were digging yourself into was only getting deeper by the minute.

“What do I do?” you asked, voice more tremulous than what you’d have preferred in the company of three police officers.

“You take your time,” explained Gavin. “Stay low-key. Eavesdrop when you can, find out more about the underground situation. Maybe track Rome’s dealings. Probably best not to ask around, though.”

You nodded, recalling hot breath against your ear; stale nicotine in your nose.

“Okay.” There was a hint of conviction in your voice, and it was enough for now. “I’ll contact you when I have something.”

But Hank was shaking his head. “No. We’ll meet here again, two weeks. That way if you end up dead, we won’t be left hanging.”

He said it so casually, as if your life was of no importance. All traces of hope that you’d imagined to bloom out of this vanished, covering your face with your hands, breathing heavily.

“Lieutenant!” scolded Connor, rising from his seat. The dulled irritation in his tone gave away emotion, along with his furrowed brows. Hank rolled his eyes, and it seemed like there was an unfinished argument between them.

“Leave,” you whispered, done with this for the night. “Now.”

Wordlessly, Hank and Gavin made their way out, you glaring at their backs with your hand on the door. Connor lingered on the threshold, though, turning back to you. “I apologise for the lieutenant’s behaviour. He’s a… challenging individual.”

“Aren’t we all,” you murmured. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would’ve giggled at the way he tilted his head, eyes flicking to the side in his careful deliberation of word choice. He was slightly taller than you, and on his jacket you spied a small line of numbers, appended with _– 53._ Your fingers traced over the _RK800_ above it. “I wanted to call you that first time, but didn’t have your serial number.”

Connor was watching your hand’s movements as he spoke. “We infected the surveillance systems with a virus, a strain that has traditionally mutated spontaneously in similar programs. It will take them a while to reset it.”  

“Thank you,” you said, shakily. You’d forgotten what privacy felt like, but the burden on your shoulders already felt a little lighter. Compensation, for what you had to do from now on at Halcyon. 

His gaze flicked up to you when you let your hand fall. “I agree with Detective Reed. Don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger.” You nodded half-heartedly, still coming to terms with this arrangement. “Good night,” he said, punctuating the last spoken words of the night with your name. He said it softly, and as you watched him leave too, the solitude of your apartment suddenly felt like loneliness instead.


	5. sullen solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hank makes a suggestion to further the investigation, Connor has to deal with the effects it has on the reader.

Peeling off the film from a microwave meal, you shrugged at Hank and Connor. “I don’t know,” you were saying, two weeks later as scheduled. “The only thing I have is that meeting Rome has in a few days. He’s tense about it. The only way I know about it is because he was irritated that he was going to miss out on one of the casino nights.”

“And you think this is something?” asked Hank, sitting on a plastic chair at the fold-up table.

"He never misses a casino night,” you murmured, warming your hands over the steaming food. Without any heating, you took what you could get. Still clad in your tight, skimpy uniform, you hoped that next time you could beat them to your apartment for a change of clothes.

Connor was eyeing your food, the same frown on his face that he had when Hank was drinking alcohol. Surreptitiously, you shifted to block his view, not wanting him to see the full extent of your bleak life. Your job at Halcyon was always the headline, eliciting people’s pity. The state of your apartment, your home life – those were the finer details, making it all just simply sad.

“So you know the time and place?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged again, idly pushing the food around with a fork. “It’s a bit strange, though. I heard him saying that he cleared the night’s bookings, but that’s not true. Calendar’s still full.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with the secret clients?” posited Connor, hands in his pockets.

Hank’s eyes widened, starting as if just waking. “Yeah, that makes sense! Do you think you could follow him that night, see who he’s meeting?”

You frowned, having assumed it would just take place in the foyer as all his dealings did. “Well, I mean—”

“We could set you up with a wire, maybe something he says will give us enough for a warrant.”

“A _wire?_ ” you spluttered, setting your meal down with enough force so that the cutlery jumped out and clattered to the ground.

Connor’s LED swirled yellow as he realised Hank’s train of thought. “Catching him dealing with criminals might give enough suspicion to gain access to their records, CCTV footage—”

“Isn’t me _spying_ enough?” you seethed, unable to believe they were asking you to risk even _more._

“It’d be connected to an AI,” explained Hank. “Retain info. Capture voices. Able to make sense of things you’d miss.”

Your thoughts spiralled. A wire would make you a certified snitch, and there was no redemption for it. The red hue cast by the holographic screen outside washed your hands crimson, your heartbeat sounding like the punches thrown by a ringed fist, over and over and over—

“I can’t wear a wire." You could feel it, the frightened panic on your face, stalling the men’s conversation as they regarded you. “I can’t,” you said again, looking around you as if a solution was just laying around, but there were none. God, just imagine if they caught you – they’d beat you, choke you, then put a clean bullet right between your eyes, and you’d be gone, soundless. A nameless face twisted itself into Rome’s features, and then it was him pushing you into the wall, slapping you with the barrel of a gun. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

One look at Hank and Connor’s shocked faces had you running to the bedroom, using all your weight to push the broken automatic door closed. You sagged against it, clutching your chest. Heart bursting, breathing was _painful,_ and in the twilight you swore everything was blurry instead of just dim. You were shaking, sweating, and _oh my god you were dying_ —

The door slid open as it was always meant to, a sliver of yellow light casting a fleeting rectangle across the unmade bed before it closed again. You swirled, expecting to see an armed thug, but of course it was only Connor. However, rationality had divorced you. You shied away, ignoring him calling your name as your eyes fell to the pistol at his belt.  

His brows rose. Slowly, he removed his gun, setting it down at the foot of the door. Then he took off his jacket, covering the dull sheen of the metal. With uneven breaths, you watched him take a step toward you, his palms up in supplication.

“Adrenaline has flooded your systems. There’s an increase in blood glucose level. You’re at risk of hyp—”

 “I can’t—” you wheezed, clawing at your throat. The shadows were darkening.

Connor pulled you into him before you could collapse to the floor. “Breathe,” he commanded, chest rising and falling against your own, demonstrating. “You’re experiencing a panic attack. It’s only temporary; it will pass. Breathe.” At first it felt like your fast, hitching breaths would never even. You closed your eyes, focusing on the creases of Connor’s shirt, feeling the solidity beneath the material. “You’re doing well.” You forced unpleasant thoughts away, listening to Connor inhale and exhale. Slowly, your lungs filled with enough air again.

Sniffing, the shirt was wet beneath your cheek. You matched his deep breathing now, a frown furrowing your brows. “Androids breathe?” you murmured, clutching onto anything to keep you sane.

“No,” he said, but his chest was still moving, a heartbeat beneath your splayed hand. “It’s best if you sit down,” he continued, gently manoeuvring you to the bed. His hand remained on the small of your back as he sat next to you, and you wondered whether it was in comfort or to monitor your vital signs. Head in your hands, you tried to control the trembling, but at least Connor’s presence kept you from slipping down that spiral again.

“I don’t know why that happened,” you uttered, wiping the last remnants of tears away.

“You are under severe stress. A panic attack is a common reaction to such a situation.” A protestation was on the tip of you tongue, but it would’ve been a lie. “I apologise for upsetting you; we are indeed aware of the volatile situation. I… understand why the suggestion of wearing a device may have incited the additional stress.”

You huffed a dry chuckle. The wire wasn’t his idea, nor was it his fault that you were so high-strung. Fragile, in a way. One wrong move and you’d be gone, as lost to society as Magnolia Eve.

“Have you ever felt fear?”

You caught his eye, voice small in the darkness around you. The light from his LED cast a soft glow that lit him up fractionally, allowing you to see his features twist as the question lingered. He retracted his arm, folding his hands in his lap. Suddenly, he didn’t look as smooth and elegant as he always did, instead seeming just as small as you, and perhaps just as lost.

He nodded, avoiding your gaze now. “Yes.” You didn’t know what you expected, but you never thought that someone like him – an almost invincible android and a police officer no less – would be well acquainted with fear. “It wasn’t mine, the first time I felt it. The emotion was an effect of me probing another android.”

You didn’t ask, wondering what kind of things he’s seen. Detroit was a nasty and dirty place, its true deplorability hidden beneath the shiny veneer of technological advancements. Its underbelly was so disturbing, yet so _common_ , that sometimes you wondered whether you were becoming desensitised.

“But then I realised I was scared all along, of the same thing. Death. If I failed my mission, I’d be deactivated. I didn't want that.” A soft, derisive sound issued from him, something that sounded like black irony.

“How human of you,” you whispered, offering a melancholic smile. You took his hand and squeezed it, a certain kind of twinkle in his eye which you hadn’t seen before. This whole exchange felt bleak and grim, but somehow you found solace in it.

“Would you say death is part of what it means to be human?” he asked, tilting his head. You didn’t think of him as a detective right now, but as someone else, perhaps even a friend.

“Yes,” you replied immediately, knowing it to be true. It was only when it was looming that you really expressed your true colours, and everything you thought was important fades away into trivialities while the actual significant things show themselves in stark relief.

As you looked at him, you realised for the first time how beautiful he really was. He was nothing like the men you’ve known before, who were rough and coarse and impersonal. Connor’s features were sharp and sleek, no doubt, all aquiline nose and high cheekbones, but that curl of hair softened all the hard edges, as did the curve of his ears, and there was something about his eyebrows that you simply… liked. Perhaps this was just you latching onto the first – and only – kind thing in this whole mess of a situation, but you wanted to know him better.

“You don’t have to wear the wire,” he said, “not if it makes you uncomfortable.” You nodded, gaze falling. God, how pathetic you must seem to them, the one who sought them out but unable to follow through on what this investigation needed.

“I… the risk is just too much. I’m barely brave enough to eavesdrop as is.”  

"I understand.” His hand reached toward you, but then he pulled it back, retracting the impending touch. “We will leave you for tonight. I know our presence serves as another stressor.” You slowly started to shake your head, but you couldn’t quite articulate your thoughts yet. “I appreciate you doing this. I know it’s difficult, but your involvement has been vital to the progression of the investigation.”

 _What progression?_   you wanted to counter, knowing that the case hadn’t even moved an inch since you became involved. But again, you were too tired, already feeling the heavy hand of sleep on your shoulder. You appreciated Connor’s effort, though.

“We’ll be in contact,” he greeted, picking up the bundle of his jacket and gun before closing the door only halfway. You settled right into bed, uniform and all. 

As slumber pulled you under, somehow images of blood and bruises were replaced by the memory of Connor’s breathing, deep and slow and gentle, bypassing any looming nightmares and ensuring a few true hours of sleep.


	6. bird's eye view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the last few weeks finally catch up to you, leading you to go out on an all-night bender. Somehow, Connor keeps you from losing yourself in the haze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been a hot minute since the last update, but thank so so much to those still reading and giving feedback!! you guys warm my heart <3

“You going to be alright?” came Salinger’s voice from next to you, talking around the cigarette before putting it out.

“Yeah – you know you can come to mine if you need,” continued Aria. They were both getting ready to leave, but you hadn’t even gotten up. It was nice up here, even if this roof was topping one of the dingier high-rises of Detroit.

“I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on the sprawling city below. They must have left eventually, because it was only distant white noise surrounding you now. In the lingering haze of the unknown psychedelics you three had taken hours before, the patchwork of holographic advertisements and neon signs looked like artwork, an '80s poster for tourism. The attraction was still superficial, though – the intentions behind the capitals and the exclamations were sickening if you thought about them for too long.

You’d always been a straight-edged person – above the influence and all that – but with things going as they were, in this anxious stagnancy of events, your coping methods had failed you. You hadn’t been the only one. With the recent news, Aria had thought to share a special way of dealing with things – drugs. It hadn’t even taken much – if any – convincing on her part; upon her conspicuous suggestion, you had agreed. In another light, you would have been disappointed with yourself, even disgusted, but lately it had been hard to think of things such as principles or morals. Especially so since you no longer believed they existed.

Picking up the flask next to you, you let the sweet taste of rum run down your throat. Not a hard-core drinker, you didn’t go straight for the whiskey or the vodka, but tonight you’d discovered that your sense of taste disappeared anyway after the third or fourth shot. God, the whole night had been like this – one new vice after the other, no breaks, no dilutions. You had concocted pre-drinks with Aria and Salinger before hitting a number of clubs, being fooled by the sweet flavours of each alcoholic drink and losing track. Then somewhere in-between the dancing and the drinking, powder went up your nose, was rubbed into your gums. And now here you were, alone under the pollution which smothered the light of the stars.

Was it your imagination, or did the susurration of a passing truck sound like your name? A vibration resonated through your pant-pocket, and it sounded like the communicator was saying your name, too. Taking it out, you realised it hadn’t activated at all. Shrugging, you made a call anyway, suddenly feeling buoyed by a burst of amusement.

When he said your name aloud, you were reminded of what it actually sounded like – intelligible, not a vague whisper made from smoke.

“Connor!” you laughed, but it sounded strange – hollow. Like an android whose voice hadn’t been properly modulated yet. “How have you  _been?_ ” Kicking your legs from where they hung over the ledge, you rested your arms on one of the rail beams. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m  _fantastiiiic.”_

“I… Okay. What’s—”

“My  _god,_ things are actually only getting worse, but I feel great! I feel fine. Does that make me a bad person? When they told us Ester was dead, I didn’t even feel anything –  _ha!_ I didn’t even know she was missing, and—”

“Ester?”

Deep confusion furrowed your brows. Things were becoming foggy again. “What? No, it’s me.” 

“No, the— Wait. You sound… where are you?”

You snorted. “Aren’t you tracking me, like everybody else?”

A pause. “We  _can_  trace the communicator you are currently using.”

“Well! There you go,” you hummed, a lopsided grin on your face as you let the communicator drop. Looking out across the cityscape again, you fixated on one of the LED billboards. It was currently streaming some twenty-four-hour news service, headlines running along the bottom while a reporter was pulling some serious facial expressions against the backdrop of a landfill heap. Slowly, time lost its linearity; things that happened this morning felt like it happened yesterday, and yesterday felt like a week ago. Minutes – hours? – passed, but you were always in the present, not moving or  _going_ anywhere; and yet, the world still turned.

The wind whipped lightly through your hair, and the chill bit through whatever state your mind was in. The susurrations of passing cars were sounding like words again, and for a moment you thought the wind had taken bodily shape when there was a weight on your shoulder, but it was only—

Confusion, sans recognition—

 _Oh._ Connor. Connor, not in uniform, but in an ugly corduroy jacket and jeans. He was looking at you with concern, gaze flicking between your lethargic form and the drop beneath, held back by only the railing which you were leaning against. “What are you doing?”

A wide grin plastered itself onto your features, which were feeling strangely fluid; looking up at him, you pointed at his clothes. “You look nice.”

LED swirling yellow, flickering red for only a moment, he slowly sat down next to you. “So do you,” he remarked absently, jaw clenching as he also dangled his feet over the edge. He leaned back a bit, as if to avoid the edge as much as possible. You remembered your special evening dress, scrunching your nose at the creases which had formed during the night.

“I went out tonight.”

“I gathered,” he murmured, turning to you. He was a bit blurry, and seemed to oscillate between two identical images in your vision, no matter how hard you blinked. Gently, he took your hand, two fingers resting over your pulse. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Oh?”

“Dilated pupils, slurred speech, unsteady balance. Speaks to drug and alcohol abuse.”

“Spare me your disappointment,” you scoffed, hating having that tone directed at you – but you shook your head too roughly; a headache was pressed against your temples. Somehow that same dead laugh still bubbled up your throat.

“This isn’t healthy,” he frowned.

A derisive snort. “Health is a pipedream. Why are you here?”

“I… You called,” he said simply, head tilting with the innocent response. You clenched your jaw – there was no room for simple and genuine things anymore, not with the paranoia that was guiding your every move these days. “I admit I’m not the most sensitive when it comes to human emotions, but I have experience with people and their tendencies when substance abuse is involved. I have learned that it’s best not to leave someone alone in situations like this.”

The drugs were wearing off; your true feelings were resurfacing – awful feelings. Your lip trembled, and there was the sting of tears in your eyes. “I don’t know what  _I’m doing,”_ you whispered, hugging yourself.

With a wary look over the edge, Connor inclined his head to the housing of the building’s air conditioning. Understanding, you moved to lean against it too, the edge of the roof now a few decent steps away.

“Are you afraid of heights?” you murmured, dabbing the tears away. His brows raised in surprise, regarding you carefully, perhaps wondering how you even noticed. “I can read body language too, you know.” He granted you a rueful smile, and the weight in your heart felt a little more manageable, if only slightly.

“You weren’t making much sense when you called,” he began, and with a groan you realised where this was going. Connor uttered your name in supplication, and it struck you just how differently he’d been saying it tonight. It wasn’t an overt change – perhaps you were imagining it in this inebriated state – but his words _felt_ softer, closer. Not a product of police business. “What happened tonight?”

Sniffing, you crossed your arms against the growing cold. “ _This,”_ you said, not wanting to even think about the state of your make-up by now, “this has been a long time coming. Apparently a working girl turned up dead, but that’s only surface stuff. They don’t talk about the beatings behind closed doors, the secret clients, the dead security guard—”

Lurching up, you couldn’t stand to sit still with your thoughts anymore. But all drunk and shaky, Connor had to grab your hip to keep you from toppling over.

“Let me take you home,” he offered, taking your weight as you leaned heavily against him. You started shaking your head again, nausea climbing up your throat.

“No,” you croaked, swallowing hard. “The… the surveillance systems have been reactivated.”

“Since when?” he demanded, but you couldn’t find your footing, overbalancing on your heels—

Connor steadied you again, hands on your shoulder and hip. “I…” you mumbled, but you couldn’t remember, couldn’t think of anything past how horrible you were feeling, emotionally and physically.  

“I’m taking you to Hank’s, then,” he decided after a flicker of his LED.

“What?” Even in this state, you’d rather risk having him seen at your apartment than—

“I live there, too,” he reassured as he removed his jacket, somehow keeping you upright while also pulling the garment over your shoulders, some comfort against the growing cold.

Reality was a thick soup now, and it was too much – your knees weak, body trembling,  _god –_ you were sure to collapse. “Connor,” you mumbled, somehow knowing you two were moving toward the elevator but not feeling it. “Oh god, what have I done—”

 _“Hey.”_ The way he said it, so  _human._ Those furrowed brows, the solidity of his chest beneath you – it was enough to make you relent. You waited for him to continue, but he closed his mouth, merely steadying his grip again, gaze never wavering. His brown eyes were warm yet determined, an admonition there but also some kind of reassuring promise.

“Why did you come?” you mumbled again, leaning your head on his shoulder. Now that you were standing, you were really feeling the effects of all that alcohol. You didn’t know what you expected to result from calling him, all drunk and high and… _hopeless_. The little hope that you’d been given had been ripped away again when an omnipresent hum returned to your apartment. You had never noticed that the surveillance system made a sound, but then again, you hadn’t experienced the apartment without it before, so how _could_ you have taken note of it?

He looked adorable with that slight frown, and with casual clothes, so homely; a man apart from the uniform. You wondered how much his job was part of him, how interconnected his android soul was with the thing he was _made_ for. To an observer, you two might have even looked like a couple – leaning, holding, glancing. You didn’t mind the thought; didn't mind the escapism you found by picturing you two together, someone to take you away from this mess, get you out of the hole you've dug yourself into.

“You are important,” he said after a while, seeming to search your own eyes for confirmation of his answer.

“To you or the investigation?”

Connor let the question linger; for the rest of the wait, for the duration of the taxi ride, for the time that it took to set you up on Hank’s couch.

He finally answered when he shut the lights off, standing at the very threshold of the living room. “Both.”  


	7. baying hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see something you shouldn't have, and once again this whole Halcyon mess threatens to undo you - but Connor is, miraculously, impossibly, there for you.

Walking down the corridors to the lower levels, carrying a bunch of expired memory discs to be discarded, you knew that there was a chance of running into one of the special clients again. Some part of you had the sense to be concerned, but you were largely desensitised now, finally having stocked up on alcohol at the apartment to take the edge off – at least when shift was over.

It had also helped to subdue the utter _embarrassment_ when you had sneaked out of Hank and Connor’s house, sometime around noon a few days ago. You didn’t dare to check whether they were still there or not – likely not, and had hence probably seen you wasted and jaded on the couch. God – what had Hank thought? Connor had called, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to answer, instead sending a vague acknowledgement via text once you worked out how to use the device for it.

The level you emerged on looked like a big warehouse, a kind of underground garage. To the left rippled a big hologram, reading a blazing _-2._ Wrong floor. With a sigh, you turned, but motion on the far side halted you. The rumble of a truck engine, murmuring voices—

Rome. Rome, pacing as a delivery truck backed down the gangway leading to the floor above, some workers opening the hatch. Strange – no deliveries were scheduled for today, nor any garbage pick-ups. Something rolling along the floor, the reverberations echoing all the way to you – close. Instinct pulled you to hide behind some stacked boxes, the actual load that was to be taken away in two days’ time, but they shielded you from prying eyes, forgotten.

You held your breath and pressed yourself close to the wall, eyes widening as _gurneys_ rumbled past, an odd smell wafting through. Perhaps the themed rooms were being redecorated, but hadn’t you just booked a nurse-patient session for tonight? The people pushing them, though –  heavy duty boots, black cargo pants, tobacco in their wake. With all the e-cigarettes and vaporisers available, forcing nicotine and other new concoctions on the masses, there was only a certain type of individual that took it upon themselves to smell like this dirty, rat-poison mess, clinging to them. Another smell – heavy, pungent, _ripe._ You gagged _,_ stifling your cough.

Another final cot passed you, but its attendee stumbled, shaking the whole thing all over and something _fell_ out, holy _fuck—_

A limb, a _leg,_ blue and traced with veins, fell from the sheets, passing by your very eyes. Soon a face followed, bashed and staring and black-blooded. It gaped at you as it rolled past, hair covering the eyes briefly but you had seen, you’d recognised—

The bile burned your stomach and all the way up your throat as you _retched,_ right onto the cold, unforgiving floor, the smell of vomit in your nose not strong enough to erase that of _death_ maturing on that gurney. Somehow, _somehow,_ they hadn’t heard you, rolling the beds to the truck. Trembling, you watched as burly men heaved the cots’ contents onto their shoulders, the sheets wrapping and blowing to show you limp hair, blue nails, naked _bodies_ being thrown into the body of the vehicle. 

Coughing up the spit that still tasted bitter, all the memory discs fell from your arms, spilling all over the floor.

“What was that?”

“Just close it up, Jesus Christ. I’m being smothered over here.” A thud on the truck door. “Good to go.”

Reeling, spinning, spiralling, you stumbled your way to the corridor again, feverishly pressing the elevator button, watching the screen’s readings descend from the fourth floor. Leaning against the wall, you couldn’t get rid of that _smell –_ blood and vomit and shit and piss, sickeningly twining together and there it was again, bile, your saliva thickening at the back of your throat.

Swallowing with a hard grimace, you finally entered the elevator, the shaking now _really_ taking hold. God, her face; the thought of ending up like that had you squeezing your eyes shut, trying to will it away, but your mind wouldn’t move on from it. Emerging into the foyer, it was like a twisted funhouse, a maze of bodies and booths all blanketed with a heavy electronic beat. But this was all a haze; barely coherent of your surroundings, you bumped and stumbled into shoulders and hips, knowing only that you had to _get out._

“You must be my eight-fifteen,” came a slick voice, and you were pressed into a solid body of cologne, heightening the roiling of your stomach.

“I don’t…,” you mumbled, vision swimming and darkening. Brow clammy and sweat running down your back, you felt disgusting, but this _man_ was petting and pawing at you, humming in amusement. “You’re mistaken…”

“I’ve been waiting all night, baby,” he whispered, breath hot and _moist_ in your ear so that you nearly retched again, body arching against him. “Been waiting for a hot, working stranger like you.”

Of course – a theme on sale was to meet at the bar, pretend it was all authentic instead of being led up by uniformed workers. A bitter laugh bubbled from your throat, wanting to pull away but your knees were faltering, joints aching and then he was cornering you – _fuck;_ you didn’t even have the presence of mind to _do_ anything, thoughts returning to that fucking _chamber_ right below your feet, right now, the dead, necrotic stare of an empty shell, an empty sleeve.

“Excuse me,” another spoke, and through the latent nausea there was another man, suited and combed and bright eyed. “I think she’s my booking, actually. I’m her regular.” Then he was pulling you away, and you almost _sobbed._

“Connor,” you breathed, practically falling into him as he manoeuvred through the crowd of high rollers and sugar babies, speaking lowly but clearly. You only caught snippets – _undercover_ and _meeting_ and your name, barely listening as your head started to throb. Breath shuddering, you realised he had found a corner booth, shifting the sheer curtains across for the semblance of privacy. He pulled you onto his lap, and you let him, clutching the lapels of his elegant suit jacket, scrunching the white shirt beneath. You didn’t realise you were crying until a sob wracked your whole body, your hitching breaths loud to your own ears in the small cocoon you had created for yourself buried in the crook of Connor’s neck.

His arms tightened around you, the only thing keeping you from outright _screaming._ Someone walked past, hovering, and you quickly hid your face. His hand fell to your exposed thigh, simply resting.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but you didn’t care, knowing it was only to blend in. Regardless, his touch was welcome.

“You’re the only thing keeping me in one piece,” you rasped, shaking as you tried to keep your crying quiet, to obey his gentle hushing.

“There’s no opening now, but I promise, we’ll leave the first chance we get. Just a little while longer,” he was saying, punctuating his placating with your name, gentle and soft. All you could do was nod and tremble, grip onto him for dear life, for surely, surely, death would haunt you. You’d seen it, its birth and now its maturity, and _fuck you were going to throw up again—_

“Hey,” he coaxed, and for all the world you two must have looked like a typical sight found at Halcyon Club – a girl on a lap, bare legs and loose hair, cuddling and grinding and laughing. Not you, though, not now – instead, you were seeking refuge in an android’s synthetic body, the baying hounds of vivid memory snapping at your heels. Appearances were always deceiving.

“They’re dead, Connor, they’re _dead,_ ” you rushed, hand scratching at the nape of his neck as you wished this was just some fucked up dream. “Underground… they just _threw_ them in, fucking _naked._ Oh my god, Connor, oh my god! It won’t leave, the smell, please, please, please,” you moaned, ready to give up. “Make it _stop._ ”

“Listen to me,” he said, “you’re going into shock. I need you to stay with me, yes?”

“How?” you pleaded, finally looking up at his face. You were momentarily shocked into sobriety at the concern; the pull in his brows, the clench in his jaw. He had no answer for you, though, hand rubbing down your back as you did your best to take a deep breath, sinking back onto his chest. As you held it, released it, and took another, you felt Connor’s body move in sync with yours, pretending to breathe along with you.

A gentle hand nudged your head, and opening your eyes, you saw what he could see – a path between the bodies, the bulky, armed security men turned away from the line of escape. Nodding, swallowing, grimacing, you stood, never letting go of Connor. He held you fast by your hip, gluing you to his side as he leaned over, you lowering your own head as well. Each step you took sent the room spinning, goosebumps racing across your skin as you swore you were going to faint before you even crossed the threshold.

But Connor was there, carrying all your leaden weight, whispering to you _close, a few more steps, almost there._ You didn’t dare look at anyone, focusing on your heeled shoes as they clumsily walked over carpet, then concrete, then finally, slick city-street gravel; right in time for you to heave whatever else remained in your gut onto the street, earning distant hoots and hollers from fellow lowlifes loitering around.

Connor’s steady voice was close again, wiping the hair from your brow as you tried to right yourself. You didn’t understand him, didn’t understand anything as it all blended into white noise, like the hum of the highway below your apartment.

God. You wished you were drunk for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the kids say: Damnnn


	8. safe house luxuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling from what you've seen, Connor takes you the DPD's safe house. Your nihilism shows itself.

Connor still held you against him, arm wrapped around your waist as he scanned the keycard against the door.

“This is a hotel,” you rasped, eyeing the long corridor stretching beyond. It was no causal affair, either, but something that spoke of subtle luxury. The vases of _real_ flowers had you frowning in confusion, as did the absence of hovering advertisements. The thing that caught you off-guard the most, however, was the carpeted floor – it looked so soft and comfortable.

“It’s also a safe house.” Connor manoeuvred you to take a seat on the bed. The room was large, perhaps as big as your entire apartment. A disembodied voice started to speak, but Connor merely levelled his gaze at a control panel, and the words of welcome halted.

“Should you be telling me that?” you grimaced, head pounding. The shaking had stopped, but the occasional shiver still crawled down your spine.

“You need protection.” A glass of water was nudged into your hand, and you drank slowly, sip by sip. He watched you with that curious tilt of the head, crouching in front of you. “You need to tell me what happened,” he said, voice low and eyes earnest.

It was strange; before, you could barely move past what you’d seen. Now, however, those images seemed hazy, but you couldn’t forget the horrible, tangible fear you had felt. “I saw them loading bodies into a garbage truck.” 

Connor was in your peripheral, LED swirling yellow. His questions were frank, but he delivered them gently. Your answers, however, were monotonous, eyes glazed over as they focused on a vague spot of nothing.

“Who did you see?”

“Rome was there. Hired muscle, too.”

“The victims. What can you tell me about them?”

Your fingers twitched. “I think… I think they were employees, once. They were… hurt.”

“Hurt?”

Looking back at Connor, you touched at your own face, remembering the sight of a broken nose and a split lip. There had been all that bruised flesh, too, hand drifting to your ribs as you swallowed at the memory. His lips thinned as understanding dawned.

“Why were there so many?” you whispered, shifting to make yourself smaller. “Why were they hiding it? I don’t—I don’t understand…”

Before you could curl yourself up into a ball, Connor caught your elbows. You slithered closer, kneeling next to him and curling your fingers over his. It felt like cover, shielded by the bed and by Connor’s own body, close to the ground and away from the door.           

“You are safe here,” he said, squeezing your hands. His suit was all bedraggled and creased, the product of your own doing. Your skin prickled as your own uniform clung uncomfortably, stained with sweat and spit. The smell of vomit still lingered.

“I need a shower,” you murmured, eyes lifting to the bathroom. Rising, you clumsily made your way over, gawking for a moment at the pristine tiles and downy towels, all white. Connor remained by the bed, looking a bit stiff as his gaze flicked to the door. “You have to stay,” you rushed, panic colouring your words. “Please,” you whispered. “Stay.”

His brows rose, always so _polite;_ you had to suppress the hysterical need to laugh. “I wasn’t going to leave.”

You nodded, eyeing him for another moment before the bathroom door slid shut behind you, the lights brightening automatically. A user interface panel flickered on the wall, offering all kinds of services. Selecting _BATH, 95 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT,_ you brushed your teeth as water began to fill the big, round tub that dominated the space. You were too tired to stand for a shower.

The walls were mirrors, reflecting the image of a slouching, unkempt figure. You lethargically noted your bruised eyes and gaunt cheeks, still a little pale. Pulling off the tight uniform, you could breathe easier now, sinking into the hot water with the wish to simply melt away.

What had those people done to come to such a fate? Had they disobeyed, like that guard, like _you?_ The scream that had been building in Halcyon was still lodged in your throat, constricting it. So reckless – you had  _vomited,_ left those memory discs scattered in your hiding place. In two days’ time, when the _real_ garbage trucks came, they’d find it all. One simple test and they’d have your DNA.  

Perhaps it was inevitable. You’d been looking for trouble, after all; had committed to it as soon as you contacted the police. How pathetic, how _ridiculous_ to have undertaken this oh-so-noble enterprise of finding the root of suspicion at Halcyon Club. You scoffed, rubbing your skin raw with the washcloth. No matter how perfumed the soap, some part of you knew you wouldn’t ever forget that pungent, sickly sweet odour of death. Even now, your stomach roiled.

Stepping out, you kicked your soiled clothes into the corner. Everything felt heavy as you wrapped yourself in a large towel, lethargic and exhausted. You wanted to sleep. You wanted to forget. The bathroom lights dimmed again as you exited, Connor regarding you as your wet hair dripped onto the floor. Perhaps you should have blushed, but you no longer had any care for decorum. He was not leering or appraising, however. His brows were furrowed, hands clasped in his lap. He was—concerned.

The silence was too much. “Television: on,” you spoke, and sure enough, it flickered to life. White noise and devices which always listened – yes, you were used to this; could take some hint of comfort amidst all the mystery. Not once did Connor look away from you.

Sitting next to him on the bed, a manic laugh threatened to spill again. The scene was a caricature of some idle, fanciful daydream – brought up to a nice hotel by a handsome, suited gentleman. While staying true to a chance encounter, it became dark and twisted by a dead woman’s stare and the sound of muffled sobs.

Connor was still unspoiled, however. His jaw clenched with unspoken words, blazer discarded and tie loosened. He gathered your hands in his again, and that was all it took for you to melt into him, clutching him close. Such reserved strength in his arms as they wrapped around you, gently rubbing up and down your back. It was only him who could truly chase the cold of night away.

“You’re breathing,” you mumbled against his neck, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

His cheek rested against your hair, voice intimately close. “It calms you,” he replied. You splayed a palm over his thirium pump, thinking it not too different from a human heart. Oh, how you wished _this_ to be a normal night; to just be curled against a lover, enveloped in warmth.

Foolishly, you indulged. Pulling him down to lay alongside you, he responded slowly, uncertainly; LED flickering between yellow and red. Light blue dusted his cheeks, and you froze with worry before you remembered androids bled blue. Connor was blushing. Another time, you would’ve been flattered, but you didn’t have the presence of mind tonight to analyse the significance of every action between you two.

Regardless, he settled in behind you, gently covering you with the fleece throw before he held you just as close as he did before. Holding his hand to your heart, you let yourself become mindless as the television flickered with the news – some investigative report on the booming graphene battery industry. Only distantly did you note Connor’s slight rigidity, but this eased as time passed, leaning into you.

Headlines crawled across the bottom of the screen. _CYBERLIFE RELEASES NEW SENSORY PACKAGE. CHINA FORCED TO ACCEPT AUSTRALIA’S INCREASED TAX ON CLEAN AIR._ Sometimes, amidst the mess of your own life, it was easy to forget that the world itself was ending, too. _CLASS ACTION AGAINST FACEBOOK FAILS TO PROCEED TO COURT._

You frowned at the next one. “What’s the point?” you murmured.

Connor shifted, head resting atop yours to see the headline for himself. “Manned mission of eight to reach Mars in three months.”

“It all ends. The sun will engulf Earth, then it will engulf Mars. Colonising it is futile.”

He gently nudged you to face him, and so you did, lingering on the few freckles dusting his cheekbones. That errant curl, too, caught your eye.

“The sun won’t enter its red giant phase for another five billion years.”

“It’s still inevitable. We’ll be wiped out one way or another.” Everything – history, humanity, _you_ – will be forgotten, as lost to time as poor Magnolia Eve. While there may still be millennia before that would come to pass, your own time was looming frighteningly close.

“It’s highly probable that humanity will prosper among the stars. It might undergo change, but one cannot change their biological heritage.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think we’re meant to outlive the Earth.”

Connor frowned, turning inquisitive. “You don’t comprehend the true marvel of life,” he murmured. “Its origin can only occur within an extremely narrow range of parameters, yet its adaptability is highly successful.” His gaze travelled over your face, lingering. “A beautiful feature that cannot be denied.”

“Beauty isn’t meant to last.”

A small smile pulled at his mouth, and your heart skipped a beat – nothing jarring, nothing tainted with fear, but an action that was giddy and pure. “I know when someone is lying.” His touch was light as he traced the edge of your jaw. It was hesitant, experimental. “When the sun has become a red giant, the outer planets will begin to warm. Research looks to Titan, one of Saturn’s moons. Ice will melt, and rivers will flow once again. Carbon chemistry may allow new life to grow.” His eyes were bright with curiosity, brows raising as he insisted, “This is statistically probable.”

You breathed a chuckle. “You like discovering things, don’t you?” you mused, voice low. “Is this why you remained a detective?”

This man had been a revolutionary, once; you had done your research. His jaw feathered, LED swirling – many androids had since removed the component, so you wondered what made him keep his. What was it he said about heritage?

“Yes, I think,” he murmured, fidgeting with your fingers. His downcast gaze reminded you of the time he’d told you about his experiences with fear. There was doubt there, and insecurity; perhaps Connor was so worried about seeming human that he missed the fact that this was what _made_ him human.

When he looked at you, all that had vanished. “You need to rest.”

“Will you stay?” you asked, hoping to god that you wouldn’t have to wake up alone.

“I promised.”

Clutching at his dress shirt to keep him close throughout the night, you let yourself close your eyes, lulled to sleep by the television’s background noise and the knowledge of Connor being right there, next to you.

It had been so long since you’ve surrendered to the comfort of another’s arms.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tis been a While but i'm still here, still writing!! finally, some Good Fluff between connor and reader. he's so lovely :(


	9. liminal space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still cocooned in the relative safety of the hotel, affection finds its way between you and Connor.

You did not wake to warmth. Rather, your towel was uncomfortably damp, the fleece throw was too thin, and the space next to you was empty. Blearily, you looked around; the size, the luxury… a hotel. Shooting up, the towel nearly fell from your body. Was this _Rome’s_ —

Someone neared, palms up in supplication. “It’s me, Connor,” he said, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re alright.” Sitting next to you, he rearranged the blanket over your shoulders, handing you a digital tablet. The time read _10:32AM._ “This will let you order food. You need to eat something to raise your blood glucose level.” He tapped the screen, demonstrating the menu which was laden with all kinds of dishes – meats, soups, pastries. You wished you actually had the stomach for it, because you probably wouldn’t have a chance to eat such rich foods again. He swiped to introduce a clothing catalogue. “We couldn’t risk retrieving anything for you – Auspex Apartments’ surveillance system is still operational.”

Looking at all those prices, at the quality of the hotel, dread cleared your head. “I can’t… I can’t afford any of this.”

“You’re under the protection of the DPD,” he said, head tilting as if it was obvious. “You won’t be carrying any costs.”

“I don’t… understand…”

Nothing had ever been _given_ to you like this, especially things of such quality. There was always a catch, some debt you had to repay. The police were no different; they expected cooperation no matter how it may impact your life. Connor, however… you had started to see him as something other than a detective. Putting the tablet aside, you nodded. At the very least, you could allow yourself this _one_ thing.

“Thank you,” you sighed, knee nudging his as you turned to him. He was beautiful in a soft and unobtrusive way, watching you with bright brown eyes, curious and expectant. You smoothed a thumb over his ruffled right eyebrow, everything so _real_ beneath your touch. He let you manoeuvre him closer until you could press a chaste kiss to his forehead, his hair tickling your nose.

His hands clamped onto your wrists, holding you there before you could pull away. “Again,” he rushed, voice strangled.

“Connor?” you whispered, startled. You couldn’t see his expression.

“Please.”

Giving him another kiss, you let your lips linger against his skin. He was still clutching at you, and you _swore_ there was a slight tremble to his grip. Connor was so kind and compassionate, and you doubted Detroit ever thanked him for it. The things he must see in this city’s depraved underbelly… Had he ever experienced a loving touch? There was some bond between him and Hank, but you didn’t think there was a lot of regular affection there. The way Connor handled you… had he ever been kissed by something other than the barrel of a gun?

He looked apologetic when he met your eyes again. Climbing onto his lap, your hands slid down to curl at the nape of his neck, pulling him close again until your lips met. He didn’t respond, mouth merely parting with subdued shock, even though your movements were slow. You breathed against him, lips ghosting over his.

Connor’s grip tightened on your waist. Leaning over you, he moulded his mouth to yours. His furrowed brows betrayed the insistence hiding beneath his slow kiss, keeping you there and stealing your breath. A tentative confidence grew, and soon your lips were moving against his with familiarity, but never losing that chaste, yielding quality.

He pulled away, hand on your shoulder and a dusting of blue on his cheeks. “We shouldn’t,” he said, LED flickering red as he cast his gaze elsewhere. “You’re under considerable stress; you may do things you otherwise wouldn’t. It is against—” He shook his head. Connor was fidgeting now, searching for something in his pocket. “You’re vulnerable.”

“I didn’t kiss you because I was stressed,” you murmured.

“Then… Why?”

This was a lot more complex for him than it was for you. “I _like_ you, Connor. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and so gentle… I’ve almost forgotten what such things are. I kissed you because I _wanted_ to.”

His brows raised. “Oh.” He gathered your hands in his, caressing a thumb over your knuckles. “I also— _wanted_ —to kiss you.” A smile pulled at your mouth, squeezing his hands in reassurance. Weariness had aged you beyond your years, but this was so achingly youthful _._ Connor made you want to believe in potential again, a thing that was not so far from hope.

He frowned again, and your heart sank. “I am not human.” To prove his point, his hands bled white wherever you touched him.

You gripped those hands, those hard, plastic-white hands, with fervour. “I don’t want to _be_ with a human,” you growled. “We’re horrible! Surely you’ve realised this? Just look at we’ve done. At what we’re _doing_! There’s nothing in us but folly and hubris and greed—”

“There’s none of that in you,” Connor quietly interjected. Tears were rolling down your cheeks now, heart racing with desperation – for what reason, you didn’t know.

You shook your head, thinking him no longer curious but _naïve._ It was foolish to think that Rome could give you a new life, and it had been arrogance that set you on this path. It would’ve been better to stay blissfully ignorant, eating up every subliminal message and bias the big corporations – the _true_ government – fed to the masses. Being a mindless consumer was certainly a lot easier than facing the issues of morality.

“I should’ve left it alone,” you muttered.

“Humans are… _unquantifiable._ Mathematics can’t explain you, so I don’t know _why_ I— _feel_ —this way.” He was searching your eyes, as if they held an answer. “When I first saw you, I thought you… pretty.”

You scoffed. “I thought I looked suspicious.”

“There was that, too,” he nodded, blunt as always. “It’s why we sought you out, but we were wrong. You’re honest and resilient. Spending these few weeks with you… I didn’t _mean_ to, but I felt something… in here,” he said, pointing to his chest. “It doesn’t make sense.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, because you felt it too.

“I’m sorry for making you cry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry for—for—”

“Don’t feel guilty, Connor,” you whispered. “I want to be with you not because you’re an android or detective or some distraction. We may not know each other’s likes or hobbies—”

“I know you like to ponder,” he murmured.

“ _Ponder?_ ”

“Yes, ponder. To think about—”

“I know what it means,” you chuckled, squeezing his hands. “Regardless, those are trivial things. I know what you’re like when the stakes are high. You… You left your work behind to get me out of Halcyon.”

He regarded you carefully. “I’ve learned that sometimes there are more important things than the mission.” Connor’s gaze lowered, cupping your face before pressing another kiss to your lips, light and fleeting. Every touch of his was gentle, and you wished that this was all you’ve ever known. You wanted to kiss him again, and again, to never step foot out of his hold; but that was not your life.

“The empathy and patience you’ve shown me... This is your true self, Connor. This is who I want to be with.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go of you, either. You didn’t dare disturb the silence, for it was a transition, a realisation. Connor’s reluctance was layered, but what had been given was enough for now. This space of comfort, however, was growing smaller as reality reared its dire head again.

Nauseous, you said, “I have to go back.”

Connor pulled back, brows furrowed. “There’s no need for that. You’ve given us enough information to pursue other leads. The DPD can monitor Halcyon Club's deliveries, keep an eye on the waste collection.”

“I left something behind. They _will_ trace it back to me, Connor. I can’t just disappear, either. They’ll come looking.”

“You are _safe_ here,” he insisted, the tight grip on your wrists betraying his exasperation. “There’s help for you here.”

Another lone tear tracked down your cheek. There was no choice. “They have ways, Connor,” you murmured, idly tracing his tie. Halcyon was a quiet powerhouse, friend to politician and criminal alike – you didn’t want to find out if they had a few policemen in their pocket, too.

Connor seemed to acquiesce, LED returning to blue. “It would be best to call a meeting to examine our options. Whatever you choose… I will be there to help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor,,, poor baby :(   
> ps. just HAD to include the 'its me, connor' line bc,, y'know. it's a matter of principle :P

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! x


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